Rise of a Hero
by HaywireEagle
Summary: Change comes on the heavy beating of black wings. Rated M for safety. First Work and Teaser/Prologue to a possible series. Reviews and constructive criticism loved.
1. Prologue and Teaser

This is my first work (that I am publishing) and it's been years since I've written anything for pleasure so you'll have to forgive me for any major errors both grammatical and canonical as I knock the rust off. That being said I will be taking my own spin on some aspects of the story. So expect scars, pain, blood, and the like, which I will do my best to provide.

* * *

"Gods forsaken snow" Muttered a shivering fur cloaked figure astride a shivering dun mare; guiding it through the hard stony and frozen path. "Why did I ever decide to come to this damned place at all?" He questions himself as his mount continues as the narrow trail bends and feeds off into a rough stoned road that had been there since the second era.

The paths through the mountains weren't as good as they were for that time of year. There were several places where rocks and snow had blocked off paths into the Rift, making the young rider lose his way, so to find an actual road had been a bit of a gift from the heavens. It meant that following one either way would get him to some place with warm food and a place to sleep, for both him and his horse.

As the cold winds blowing hard on his back from the mountains around him he notices something. A sound. The clinking of metal and the grunts of men and beast alike. For the moment the cold is forgotten; replaced with curiosity.

From what he can see, he is at the end of a column of men in light armor, blue cloth and steel chain on foot while several common clothed folk in thick clothes follow behind on cart or on foot laden with packs and obvious supplies.

"I wonder what this is all about?" He asks himself quietly to himself. His words not noticed by anyone as he finds himself falling behind the others. "Do you know?" He asks his horse, grinning when the beast gives a snort and wild toss of his head.

"I Thought so."

He followed these people quietly for the time being. His pressence going unnoticed as if he were simply another stranger following this army or seeking to join the fine clothed man at the column's head.

All were unprepared for what waited for them at Darkwater crossing.

"Attack!" Came a shout with an Imperial accent, quickly followed by the roar of men and horse alike as they charged from woods and into the sides of that unprepared column on both sides. The column was caught between a hammer and anvil.

There noise had become deafening as orders on both sides were shouted over the din of battle. Leaving the rider to freeze, fighting to control his startled mare as it danced and cried. He needed to get away. He knew he needed to, but to where? He looked madly around him as Crimson and steel swallowed and cut away the blue.

His attention cost him the little control of the beast beneath him. It would dart forward, towards those armored legionaires. His throat was tight and eyes wide as the beast slid to a stop and reared, throwing the unprepared rider from the saddle, saving his life as the beast is struck and riddled with arrows, slashed with blades, and impaled upon spears.

The stunned rider looked up as the great beast falls to it's sides with a wet thud. The cold half frozen earth warmed with the growing pools of blood. He tried to get away, walking backwards upon his hands, kicking his feet to propel himself back.

He found his footing and stood as fast as he could, turning faster still . He ran only to catch the curve of a angled shield in his chest, leaving him gasping for air and looking to the man who had hit him.

Only it wasn't a man that had put him down on the muddy ground.

A woman stood over him with a scowl on a face that would have been pretty if it hadn't been for the scars on her cheeks and other hard lines. He didn't get to look for long before her boot had struck him across the temple, causing the world to turn black..

* * *

Deep within the darkness of an plane of Oblivion known as the Apocrypha; where all the world's knowledge is collected, and hoarded, both forbidden, known, and lost. Hermaeus Mora; The Apocrypha's shapeless master turns a thousand ever looking eyes towards the world of Mundus, watching where an interesting sight had finally begun to unfold. Fate was moving once again as the wings of the world eater begin to beat and Akatosh's protections begin to wane, letting the prince's influence touch Mundus once again.

"So the time of his return approaches," The daedric prince says to himself; his deep and hauntingly soft voice echoes throughout his domain. " and as Alduin returns with him come the dragons." He sounds amused, and almost excited as if he had come upon some new knowledge of have gotten a hold of long lost knowledge that had been kept from his grasp.

Though, unknowing to the void-like Prince of Oblivion, more than the World Eater has begun to wake as a thousand plots and plans begin to take shape.

Far away from the planes of Oblivion; deep in the mountains of southern Skyrim a resounding roar that announces the return of a great strife is lost in the wailing icy winds and grey stone and snow covered peaks of the Jerall mountains while man and mer scurry and fight amongst themselves unkowing of the rising tides.

"Alok." called a weakened and tired voice, so soft it was almost lost to the darkness. The words are whispered as fluttering pages whip through the air, held aloft by nothing as an ancient power begins to stir and move to return and rise once again to his proper place and free himself of his master's shackles.

Change was coming, and it was being brought to Tamriel on the back of heavy black beating wings.


	2. Traps and Dark Water

**A/N**: Well, I got a bit of a bug when I started this, and playing the Skyrim OST while writhing this helped a lot, but it took forever for me to get it started, but as soon as I did a dam came down. Let's hope I can keep this up! Comment, Review, follow, and enjoy!

This Chapter is around 2.6k words this time around. I had hoped to get 3 or 4, but it's a nice little scene.  
This chapter will be in Ulfric's POV up until Helgen, unless I decide to throw in the protagonist.

* * *

The Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak had left the safety of Windhelm against better wishes of his second in command Galmar who had called his idea an act of madness. Perhaps he was right. It was a bit mad to set out from a fortress deep within your territory to harass Imperial supply lines while trying to further draw more people into his influence, but they would need every true son and daughter of Skyrim to stand up and join him if they were going to free themselves of the Imperial and Thalmor yoke.

That had been two weeks ago, and now they were camped in a large clearing north-east of a small but productive mining village of Shor's Stone when a messenger had been brought to his tent with a message from one a sympathizer behind the Imperial lines. It spoke of a large convoy filled with Markarth silver intended for the Empire, feeding the oppression of the Nords of Skyrim. It was a target that no one could turn down when it had been offered, but was it too good to be true?

The Jarl stood over a table, eyeing the map that lay pinned to the worn wooden surface while a thick calloused finger followed the lines while remembering the reports from his scouts. There was indeed a convoy of covered wagons following a worn and rarely used trail.

"Guarded; but not by soldiers in Imperial armor. Camouflage as simple merchants or refugees perhaps?" He mutters to himself as he weighs his options while planning the encounter in his mind. Though, his words had been louder then he meant.

"Perhaps," One of his bear cloaked officers spoke up, pulling him from his train of thought.

The Jarl looks up to him, noting the thick wild beard from months in the field on campaign, and a sharp predatory gaze. "It wouldn't be the first time. The _Thalmor_," The man seemed to spit the word out. "Used similar tactics during the war, our own spies have done the same as well." He shrugs before getting a nod of acceptance from his Jarl, remembering all too well.

"And it coincides with what we've been told. Rouse the men, and have the camp ready to move by morning. We'll have to move fast. It will take at least two days to catch them, but we will catch them." Ulfric speaks up as he runs a hand across the stubble along his broad jaw, eyes still focused on the map, not noticing that his tone had made the soldier in front of him stand a bit taller, swelling with pride.

"Have a messenger sent to Windhelm. Tell Galmar that we are on the move and will return after this raid." The soldier salutes with a fist across his chest and a bark of acknowledgement before turning out of the tent.

The Jarl continued to study his map as he remained vaguely aware of the noise outside as the five hundred men and women that made up his camp jumped to prepare for the long march. Eager and confident of what was to come. There was nothing more he could do but wait. The veteran soldier and Jarl sighed before leaving the tent himself.

The winds blowing from down the mountains were not as strong or as cold that night, and instead of skinny rabbit stews they had been having was replaced by one filled with Elk and wild vegetables instead of the winter wilted preserves they had brought with them. It was a good sign to many of them, including Ulfric who sat amongst his men, singing and enjoying themselves for the time being, forgetting that in two days some of their number would be feasting in Sovangarde instead.

* * *

The night came and went for Ulfric and his Stormcloaks all too quickly. The golden rays of dawn broke over the distant mountains, leaving the sky painted dark blue and shades of red and orange while the cold ground was cast in soft morning light, leaving the emerald green grass glistening with a soft coat of frost sticking to every leaf and blade.

The thrushes and warblers and morning songbirds sang and trilled as greeted the morning while the camp horses crunched and shifted at their posts. The proud and hardy animals snorted, putting out thick clouds of visible breath as they waited to be fed, watered, brushed, and prepared for the journey ahead.

It would be another two hours before the soldiers had completely finished their preparations despite the sour stomachs and headaches that had come from their indulgence the night before, but they did eventually begin that hard march towards the secretive Imperial convoy.

The march went on for two days without issue. The scouts that traveled ahead and around the small army had nothing to report other than hunters scrounging for game both big and small and a Giant carrying a cow underneath an arm, but thankfully it would not intersect his columns path because even with their numbers a giant was still a giant and one alone could kill a handful of them with a single swipe of their mammoth bone clubs.

"Darkwater crossing ahead, past there and we should begin to see the end of the convoy." Ulfric's bear like officer rumbled at his side from atop of his heavy painted horse. His body was tense at the thought of the battle to come, like beast preparing to take down game for dinner. "Then it's warm fires and mead when we get back to Windhelm."

The words seemed to give Ulfric a moment of amusement in the form of a small smile breaking the edges of his thick lips; fracturing his stone like countenance, leaving the edges of his eyes and nose to wrinkle. "I Agree." The Jarl chuckles as he lets his hand rest upon the hilt of the steel blade that sat against his hip.

The moment of levity is broken by a loud shout from his side upon a foliage thick ridge, startling the Jarl and his men. "Now, attack now!" The shout sounded; a cultural Imperial accent Ulfric realized with dread as a pit began to form in the bottom his gut.

He had only a moment; his steel was half drawn from its sheath when the roar of the Imperial Legion filled the air quickly followed by their bodies. Their heavily armored forms charged from the undergrowth on all sides of the unprepared column with spear and sword.

"A trap," Cried a fearful soldier. "It's a trap!" He sounded frantic as he stood frozen in his place before his comrades knocked him from his daze. Iron and steel was brought to bear upon their surprise attackers in an attempt to defeat and escape from this blood cauldron of death.

Ulfric kept a tight hand on the reins while his sword arm swung the heavy Nord forged blade in a wicked arc, cutting down some poor soldier who thought to garner prestige by bringing down the mounted Jarl. "Divine take you!" He roars at them as his trained beast kicks and bites at the enemies who swarmed around them.

Though, he was too large of a target upon his horse. The beast rears as it is charged from the front. Kicking with its powerful forelegs as the legionaries thrust long heavy spears into the stallion's chest and underbelly. It cried shrilly while others went for the rider with their hands. The Jarl roaring obscenities as he is ripped to the side while the beast falls towards the other.

The finely dressed and lightly armored Ulfric falls upon the hard packed and stony ground with a crunching thud with sword still in hand. They thought to take him like this? The thought made his blood run hot and spirit rage like a storm in a bottle.

The slayer of the high king and Hero of Markarth slashes wildly as he pulls himself back to his feet, starring down the men that approached him.

"Archers to the front!" The Imperial General called out from above as he watched with grim satisfaction as his soldiers cut away the traitors of the empire. The men in question stepped upon that ridge with arrows already knocked and ready. "Draw!" The order came and all the men pulled back to the cheek, taking aim at the trapped and withering rebels in blue. "Loose!" and with a wave of the sword a volley of arrows were cast down at the rebels with the snap of their strings.

A wave of arrows struck them causing a new wave of screams and shouts as more bodies fell beneath the fiery onslaught.

Ulfric stood in front of his men, shouting orders and taunts as he met the men who stepped forward. He would lead from the front, inspire his soldiers and demoralize his enemy at the same time. His steel sang as it met its Imperial counterpart. He was a large man, even by Nord standards, a full head over his tallest soldier, and despite his heavy form he moved with considerable speed and skill.

He wove and danced with the enemies around him, attacking and blocking with a skillfulness that came from years of back breaking practice tempered with years more of bloody experience. They all watched as the Jarl went between cutting down men or hammering them down into submission with heavy withering blows, even going as far as stabbing through the thick steel banded armor of some while only receiving only minor cuts and bruises in the exchange, despite his heroic image, he could only do so much, so he would step back to assess the situation to hide his fatigue.

The masterful fighting he had shown had lifted his men. They rallied behind their Jarl with a roar of defiance before charging those around them in an attempt to fight their way to freedom only for their bodies to sprout feathered shafts and add more blood to the already saturated ground.

The Jarl hated to admit when he was defeated, every person did. Ulfric felt as though he had eaten something rotten as he accepted this defeat, choosing to run and live then dying or being captured.

He watched for a brief moment the chaos around him. His lips drawn into a grim line while dark eyes glittered like polished ebony. He lifted his blade up and shouted another order. "Fall back!" He sounded, his voice almost lost over the roar of battle as he cut down another two Legionaries with another series of powerful blows. "Gods be damned if we fall here!" He swore to himself as he eyed to the ridge above him where arches continued to pick his men off at their pleasure. "Stormcloaks, Retreat, fall back!" He orders, waving his blade in the air before turning back and shouting down another advancing line of soldiers.

His teeth ground together as he saw what was coming next. Instead of archers continuing their barrage something much worse was being brought to bear upon that bloody cauldron.

"Arches cease fire and mages forward!" Boomed the Imperial General Tulius who stood above the battle with his leather and gold armor glittering in the afternoon sun, calling in his second line of troops. The soldiers below spared a small glance, watching as the hooded soldiers moved into position with increasing dread.

The General looked down, weathered pale eyes connecting with the younger and near black eyes of the Jarl.

Ulfric snarled as his muscles remained tightly coiled in preparation to attack, while the power in his throat rumbles, and blood boils. If he can only hold off he can shout them down as he did his enemy during the siege of Markarth years ago. He can feel it rising as he holds the words onto his lips, only for the power not to be there when he needs it.

"I want Ulfric alive!" The seasoned general shouts as he motions with his sword, the mages hold up their hands as a mixture of lights as the wave of power began to build. "Fire!"

Ulfric wished he had listened to his old friend Galmar.

The order had been given and in the next breath the waves of magic were cast into the knot of blue armored soldiers…

Lighting hit first and hard. The blasts cut deep within the iron and steel clad enemy forces. The powerful shots of primal nature arched between some while others were simply knocked back or just falling limp as if their strings had been cut. Those that had fallen now were the more lucky ones.

The shots of ice were the next to fall into the waves of blue clad bodies. The shots were not as effective as they would have been to other races due to the natural Nordic resistance to cold, but in sheer volume some were not as lucky. The blasts struck in the heart of the group behind Ulfric. He did not look behind him as he continued to fight, suffering to hear the sounds of limbs being frozen and breaking off which was followed by the panicked screams of his soldiers, but it would not be as bad what the next wave of magic brought.

Fire, waves and bolts of it lashed against his men. The blasts of fire set many ablaze. Their screams broke over the noise of the ambush as they clawed at their body's and rolled in the earth in an futile while their allies did their best to smother them. Though, there was nothing that they could do that would douse those unnatural flames. Those struck and set aflame were left as nothing more than blackened and twisted husks filled the air with the smoke and the horrid scent of burned flesh. Ulfric was left with only the edges of his coat charred as one of his men reached out to grab the hem. There had been nothing he could do except drive the blade into the heart of his loyal follower, sparring him anymore pain. "Sovangarde take you, brother." He prayed as he drew his blade back before his grip upon his blade tightened until his knuckles turned white.

That short volley and moment of horror had broken the spirit of the soldiers and recruits, but enraged their Heroic Jarl.

Furious, his dark eyes shown with barely contained rage as the voice rose in his throat. If he was going to fall, he was going to take Tulius with him.

"Now!" The general ordered, directing his sword towards the towering and muscled Jarl. The mages gave a shout of confirmation before unleashing the final wave of magic upon the surviving rebels.

Ulfric's shout never came to be as he was struck with that green blast. He felt his body grow numb and still, unable to do anything as he fell back with a thud into the mud. A moment later sword, hammer, axe, and bow were cast down onto the ground in a show of surrender.

The Imperials did not wait to move upon the few weary remains of Ulfric's once confident forces.

Ulfric was raised to his feet, unable to move still by thrice damned magic and bound before his men. The man's eyes were burning hot coals as anger radiated from his defiant gaze. His men watched on as cloth was shoved into his uncooperative mouth while another thick strip of dirty cloth is tied over it, sealing him for the time being.

The Stormcloak Rebellion as it had been called by the Empire was finished before it could truly begin.


	3. To The Block

A/N: I took a few small liberties with this chapter, mostly dialogue and a few other small things. Though, for the most part it's all the same as what you would find in the game. I had originally planned to have this chapter follow directly after the last one, but for the life of me I couldn't get it down the way I wanted so I skipped ahead to this part and attacked my problem from a different angle. So enjoy 8 pages and look out for more.

The next chapter is going to mostly be a flashback to before the Dovahkiin crossed over into Skyrim, then we'll break back and finish up Helgen and the escape.

* * *

The cart that Ulfric and his remaining men had been loaded into rocked and creaked rhythmically as its single shaggy draft horse pulled them up the worn stone road towards the fortress town of Helgen, a place that called him and his men Heroes, but sat beneath the banner of the Empire and its Legion. He could look over and above the ancient snow dusted conifers the very edges of the fortress' grey stone towers. It was not too far after that town that he would be in Cyrodiil where he had hoped originally they would take him, but Tullius had decided to not take any more chances with the Jarl. They would be taken to Helgen and put to the block in public, where news of his execution would then travel with merchants, soldiers, and traveling civilians at surprising speeds.

It had been two days since their capture and the ambush at Darkwater crossing. Now they were all living on borrowed time, and with that knowledge in mind a flickering ember of frustration and anger within his gut burned a bit hotter as he sat silently there with his brothers and sisters in arms.

Ulfric's brooding is interrupted by a soft groan of pain, causing his dark eyes to briefly flick over to the unconscious Imperial sitting next to one of his men, Ralof if he remembered right.

The man did not speak, but from the look in his eyes he was confused as to why he was there.

"So you are finally awake?" Ralof said as he looked at the Imperial from where he sat. "You've been out for a while. You were caught trying to cross the border into Skyrim, and got caught in the same ambush as us and the thief right?" Ralof questioned. The man had a friendly air about him, but a strength and nobility that seemed to be rare as of late. He would have made a fine officer if they had not been captured.

The bound and silent Imperial in rags sat there for a moment, his jaw clenched as he seemed to remember before giving a tight nod of his head while the dirty dark haired Nord in question spoke out with a growl. "Damn you Stormcloaks!" He swore, venting his frustration at being caught. "Skyrim was just fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and Lazy, and if they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." The thief turns his attention to the other civilian in rags. "You and me shouldn't even be here. It's these Stormcloaks the empire wants." And the other man didn't say anything, and smartly so.

Ralof sighs and settles back against the side of the carriage. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." It makes the thin Nord frown before giving a heavy shake of his head.

Ulfric gives a muffled growl as he pulls at the rope that bound his wrists. They still did not give no matter how hard he pulled it seemed.

"Shut up and settle down back there." Their driver barks over his shoulder before turning back to driving the cart.

Ulfric settles a moment longer before starring a head, contemplating in his last moments as they drew up towards the thick frost covered stone walls of Helgen

"What's his problem?" The thief asks as motioning towards the gagged man in ruined finery.

"Watch your tongue!" Ralof's demeanor changes quickly in defense of his Jarl. The man would have been great. "You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" He says with his body coiled to lash out despite being tied.

The man froze for a moment as the comment settled in his mind. "Ulfric?" He repeats while his brow furrow before his eyes began to widen. "the Jarl of Windhelm?" His voice was growing sharper with fear. "You're the leader of the rebellion, but if they had captured you… Oh gods! Where are they taking us?" Fear evident in his wild eyes.

"I don't know," The blond Nord sighs, resigned to what was to come. "But Sovangarde awaits us."

"No! This can't be happening." The man was on the verge of tears.

"Hey!" The blond Stormcloak calls out. "What village are you from horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" He asks his gaze dark and focused on Stormcloak across from him.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." Came the soft reply and that seemed to strike a chord with the thief.

"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead."

The reply made Ralof nod, his gaze turning from the thief to the walls that were becoming clearer as they drew closer, it was then his eyes seemed to soften in memory. He knew the place as well it seemed, but it seemed a bit more familiar to him than it did to Ulfric.

"General Tullius, Sir! The Headsman" A female Imperial soldier calls out from her horse as she rides down the road towards them, pulling alongside of the snow haired general.

"Good, let's get this over with," The man in gold and dark leather armor said from his place at the front of their party.

Those words struck the horse thief hard and sense of peace that he had found from Ralof's words was broken. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines, please help me!" The thief prayed with his eyes and hands clenched tightly together.

It wasn't long after that they were escorted through the gates; the walls and ground were filled with men with bows and blades. No chances were being taken now that their great prize was moments away from execution.

Ulfric and the others watch as Tulius rides away, off to the sides where he meets another pair, mounted on broad chested horses. Their skin was golden and faces angular, and from dress Ralof could tell who they were in an instant.

The man's growls made Ulfric strain a bit to see what had elicited that reaction, and had given a grunt when he saw them too.

"General Tullius, the Military governor." Ralof says using the name like a curse as he watches the man greet the waiting elves in the Thalmor robes. "I bet those damned elves had something to do with this." He says as he watches the female elf sit there with a slight smile on her face as if she were enjoying the precession. His annoyance lasts a few moments more as they draw past a sign, advertising the name of the village's Inn. It seemed to have brought up a memory for the blonde nord.

"I used to be sweet on a girl from here." He said with a small smile growing at the edges of his lips, his eyes closing as he seemed to relive it for a moment. "I wonder if Vilad is still making that mead with juniper berries." He said as he tried to remember the taste before turning his gaze up at the walls that loomed ominously above them. "Funny." He says with a chuckle. "When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

The humor was not lost and was met with a few chuckles from the Stormcloaks who had heard the joke.

They would ride silently for a while longer as they are guided to the Imperial Fortress and then slowed to a stop.

Curious, the thief speaks out again. "Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think? End of the line, let's go, shouldn't keep the gods waiting." Ralof replies as he and the others begin to stand and marched off of the cart, making it bounce with every departure.

"No, wait! We are not Rebels!" The thief pleaded for him and the other civilian, attempting to free himself of the block and the executioner that waited off towards the side of their lined carriages.

"Face your death with some courage thief, like a true nord." Ralof admonishes as he follows his Jarl to the ground.

"Tell them; tell them that this is a mistake. Tell them we are not with you. Tell them!" He pleads his fellow prisoners. The others just look at him with small frowns and ignore his frightened pleading.

They are lined up by the soldiers some caring wooden boards with the prisoner manifests.

A hard faced officer off to the side of the gathered prisoners with a scowl on her face, while her hand rested on the hilt of her sword. "Step toward the block as we call your name," She instructs as she watches them like a hawk. "One at a time." She adds, she would not have any sort of trouble, not now.

Ulfric could not hear what Ralof mutters quietly to the prisoner next to him. His focus on the fate before him.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The broad shouldered and wide faced soldier calls out in a strong Nord accent.

Ulfric's brows are a knot and his posture was angry, but he steps forward proudly looking the noble that he was, despite the blood and dirt that covered him.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." Ralof speaks up, causing the soldiers to give a bark, airing their agreement with their comrade's words.

"Ralof of Riverwood," The soldier spoke up, the man frowned slightly. He knew that name and looked up from his list to a familiar face. Neither man said anything, for there was nothing that need being said. Ralof simply followed his Jarl, and stepped proudly behind him.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" The thief's courage and fear reach a new peak as he breaks from the pack of prisoners, his gaze to the gate ahead that had remained open.

"Halt!" The woman in charge of the execution orders as she turns to watch the man run. There was only the one warning for the fleeing prisoner.

"You're not going to kill me!" Lokir calls out to the soldiers, half mad with fear as he runs as fast as his legs could take him.

"Archers!" The woman calls out and with that single phrase the back of the thief was pelted with arrows. The man fell like a stone, dead. The message was clear. You could run, but you wouldn't get far. "Anyone else feel like running?"

The captains taunted them before waving for the soldiers to continue their inventory of the prisoners.

It was not a minute later that Ulfric's attention was pulled back to those behind him. "Captain, this prisoner is not on the list, what should we do?"

The captain, not missing a beat turns back to her subordinate. "Forget the list; they go to the block the same as the rest!"

The Jarl couldn't help but grunt into his gag at hearing that. The thief had it coming, but this was just another reason for his rebellion.

The counting of the forty odd survivors of the ambush of Darkwater crossing went on without further trouble. The whole affair was silent. There was not talking other than the names being called and the occasional affirmation of their names being called.

When it all had been said and done, General Tullius would step in front, moving to stare down the infamous Jarl. Like a hawk watching a bear.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, some here at Helgen call you a hero," The General speaks up for all who stood in attendance, in front of the large iron gates of the keep. "But a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his king and try to usurp his throne. You started this war! You plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to make you pay for your crimes against Skyrim's people, and restore peace!" The man declared for the people more than anyone else in an attempt to sway their loyalty to the Empire once again. The Empire could not afford to lose these people. He knew all too well that if Skyrim broke off from the Empire they would end up at the tip of the Altmeri Dominion's sword, and the Empire would end up weaker still.

Gods knows anyone who could see beyond the loss of Talos would know that the White-Gold concordant was only a stop-gap, a moment of peace between the fighting to come. The Empire would need every man and woman if they were going to turn back the tides. If he had to resort to trickery, deception, lies, and the like to do it, then so be it. Talos himself would understand, after all he had slit the very throat of the Emperor before him before taking the throne, for sometimes you must commit to a small evil before you could do greater good.

General Tullius did not get much further in his speech when a loud sound broke over the wind. It echoed through the airs and off of the great stone peaks that rested around them, startling many of the horses and several people as well. The horses neighed loudly and jerked their heads as if trying to run, but their handlers and were unable to get away. The people however were wary and a few curious at what that had been.

"What was that?" The female officer in charge asked as her gaze turned the sky, looking for something that was not there.

Tullius quickly spoke out, attributing the sound to a bear or just a powerful wind blowing through the trees; sometimes it was best to not know. "It was nothing, carry on Captain." He broke over the hushed voice while motioning the officer to continue.

"Yes, General." The woman retorts before turning on her heel and nodding at the priestess who was presiding. "Give them their last rights."

The middle-aged woman simply nodded before moving before the men and women assembled and spread her arms above her head and began the prayers.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the eight Divines-"She began before an impatient and irritated prisoner spoke up.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." He says as marches to the front of everyone, heading towards the block.

"As you wish," replied the priestess with an exasperated tone, backing away from them while the captain and headsman remained in place.

"Come on, I ain't got all mornin'" He retorts as the captain grabs him by the back of the next, forcing him down to the heavy wooden block, his head turned to look up at the Headsman and then the woman before smiling. "My ancestors are looking down and smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same of yours?" He taunts them, starring at them defiantly, voice filled with pride as he watches the burly armed executioner bring his ax up high, poised for the killing stroke. His eyes clothes while making one last mental prayer.

The curved headsman's blade comes down on his neck, just above his shoulders with a solid wet thunk. It sliced through bone cleanly, letting the head fall into the waiting basket with a dull thump, followed by a spurt of arterial blood before the body is given a small push by the captain's boot so it would fall off to the side.

"You Imperial Bastards!" Cried a distraught voice of woman, a Stormcloak.

Her voice was quickly drowned out by the assembled soldiers. "Justice!" Came a shout from an Imperial soldier while another cheered. "Death to the Stormcloaks!" The noise was deafening as those defending and denouncing them all spoke up at once

It would take a few minutes more before silence was restored to the mob of bodies. The Captain spoke up again as a pair of soldiers took care of the man's remains.

"Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!" She points to young man who stood there in prisoner's rags.

Another roar like sound would boom over them, but it sounded a bit louder as if its source grew closer to them, inciting another wave of confusion between some. "There it is again!" A soldier spouted, wondering if the first time it had been fluke or something, but the sound was ignored by the captain in its entirety.

"I said NEXT PRISONER!" Her gravelly voice calls out over the mumbling crowd, and the prisoner in question slowly began his walk forward.

* * *

"To the block, prisoner…Nice and easy." The regret tinged voice of the soldier whispered to him as he gave him a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, for as much good as that would do him…

His feet felt heavier and heavier with every step forward along that cold stone courtyard. He said nothing in his defense, knowing all too well that his pleading would fall onto deaf ears. He looked on and thought about running as the horse thief; Lokir had done. Fast and assured by the hands of the Ax-man, or a painful one at the hands of the fast armed soldiers surrounding him.

'_Never been that nimble to begin with, even as a kid.'_ He thought to himself as he found himself pushed down against the block. He felt the previous prisoner's blood seep into his shirt. It was still warm, causing him to grimace at the morbid thought. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The wood was naturally dark and its scent was earthy, freshly cut and carved it seemed, and it had an almost spice like in aroma, or it would have had it not been for the blood mixing with it. Another bestial roar filled the air, mixing with the beating of wings this time. It was haunting, musical, and foreboding. There, he saw something large, black and flying fly over a rocky ridge before disappearing behind the tower in front of his eyes.

"What in Oblivion is that?" cried a soldier, or civilian. He couldn't tell.

The voice of the captain sounded next as the headsman began to lift his ax. "Sentry, what do you see?" The captain's order causes the whole fort began to go on alert, and it was there that his world changes. Then for the hundredth time since he had woken up on that prisoner carriage, and thousandth time since he crossed the border, he wondered why in the world did he decide to come to Skyrim? Then as a beast with black spiked scales flared beating wings and evil hunger filled red eyes perched above them, the prisoner remembered.

"That's right, a dream." The perched black dragon, that's the only thing something like that could be roars and the skies above swirl and darker. The people are screaming now as the great flying myth's roar ripple the air with power, throwing all including the prisoner down to the cold hard ground.

_A Dream…_


End file.
